


it's only love that gets you through

by MinilocIsland



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Loss, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 07:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17576234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinilocIsland/pseuds/MinilocIsland
Summary: For as long as he can remember, Isak's handled everything on his own.But maybe – today of all days – things are about to change.





	it's only love that gets you through

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nofeartina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nofeartina/gifts).



> For you, dearest Tina, just because. <3<3<3
> 
> Title from Sade. 
> 
> Many thanks to P for reading this through <3 – I hope you'll all enjoy this!

If Isak could wish for one thing only, it would be that it didn’t show. 

That no one could see this. See his frustration, his regret, his anger. His longing, transformed into this searing rage. 

But, as it is, he’s not that lucky. Has never been. 

So, here he is, striding up the hill beyond the houses, the spring green grass turning withered and brown wherever he goes, a path of ash following in his wake. 

He doesn’t look back, just heads straight for the grove of birch saplings on the other side of the hill. Normally, he’d take a few detours, let himself calm down before he goes there, making sure no one will follow. 

Right now, though, he doesn’t have the patience. Is too tired, too angry, too fed up with it all. Doesn’t have the energy to care if he gives his refuge away to the others. 

They probably wouldn’t want to run into him, anyway. Least of all now.

Normally, the grass wouldn’t die behind him, just burn a little at the tips, return to normal in a day or two. But he doesn’t have to turn around to know that this particular path probably will stay like this for weeks, like a firebreak. That it won’t disappear until the new grass has grown up. And even then, it’ll be brighter, look different, stand out. An anomaly.

But today he can’t find it in himself to care.

He should have known that it’d go like this. This year as well. 

His father looking at his mother with concern, at the door closing behind her, frowning at the sobs coming from he other side. His gaze reproachful as he’d turned to Isak.

_ You should have known you’d upset her. Today of all days, Isak. Will you ever learn? _

Like  _ he  _ doesn’t have the right to be just as upset, or as sad, as they are.

_ She was my sister! My family too! _

It had taken every last ounce of his self restraint not to stride up to his father right then and there, push at his slumped shoulders where he’d been sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, head hung low. His mother’s sobs still audible through the thin wooden door.

The petals of the begonia had crumpled at the edges as he’d passed it on his way out, but he’d managed to hold it in. At least until he’d gotten past his mother’s roses.

Now, as he nears the thick bush of birches, the rage inside him slowly starts to dissipate. The only sounds are coming from the faint wind in the grass, a bird chirping somewhere above, and the narrow stream running beside him. The glitter on its surface almost mocking him with its brightness. 

As he angles his body to pass between the white stems and into the centre, relief washes over him. The bright green leaves form around him like a dome, surrounding him, tucking him in. Shielding him from the outside, if only for a while.

His favorite tree, the one in the middle, is different from the rest. Older, bent, the stem first rising, then bending down to form a bench of sorts, before straightening up again towards the top of the green roof. Perhaps something happened to it when it was still a sapling. Maybe lightning struck it, or it suffered a disease. He’s always tried to focus on the fact that whatever it was, the tree did recover. 

He can’t count the number of times he’s sat on that trunk, picking at the thin white sheets of birch bark, carving pointless patterns into it with his pocket knife.

As he steps into the clearing, however, he gets the distinct feeling that something is different today. Something in the smell of the trees, of the rustle of the wind.

As he raises he gaze to the tree in the middle, he realizes what it is.

Today, unlike all the other times, he’s not alone. 

The tall, lean shape of a boy, features hidden by shadows and the hair falling over his face. Someone around his age, from the look of it. Someone he’s never seen before. Leaning against the tree.  _ His _ tree.

Anger flares up inside him again, and without thinking, he steps up to him, laying his hand on the trunk before he can stop himself.

“What are you doing here?”

The boy jerks his head up, as if he hadn’t noticed Isak until now. His stare is wide, his mouth half-open, and the dark circles under his eyes give him an almost scared impression. 

His forehead creases as he takes a small step back. 

“I’m sorry. Is this your –”

“Yes! Yes, it is! And –” Isak knows very well that this isn’t  _ his _ spot per se, but in a way, it  _ is.  _ And today, today especially, he’s more than tired of feeling like he doesn’t have the right to feel, or to have, what is actually his.

“– and you shouldn’t be here, so just – just go!”

He hears it before he feels it. The oozing sound of burnt wood, reaching his ears as if from a distance. Before he’s realized what’s happening he turns his head, sees the brown marks forming under his fingertips. Running like wildfire from his hand, up the white stem, and down, all the way around it, like a scorch mark –

“Look what you did!”

He can’t help the panic in his own voice. First of all, the tree –  _ his _ tree, his silent companion, his fixed point –

And, the knowledge that this boy will look at him in disgust, turning away from him before he’s even gotten to know him. To know what this is. What  _ Isak  _ is.

He must be new here, and this is the first thing he sees about him, and soon, all the others will know, and –

The boy just stands there, however, his lower lip hanging. His eyes have widened even more, and his gaze is fastened on Isak’s hand, on where death spreads from beneath his fingers, where the now dry bark has cracked, burnt streaks running along the crevices.

Why isn’t he running away? What is he still doing here? Is he that afraid of him?

Once again, his anger subsides, this time giving way to confusion. 

His head doesn’t clear at all as the boy, against all odds, against all Isak has ever learnt to expect, takes a small, tentative step forward. His eyes dart up to Isak’s as he takes another step, his expression unfathomable.

Isak doesn’t move, hand still frozen in place. 

Another, final step, and the boy closes the distance between them. 

And then, he reaches out his hand, and puts it on top of Isak’s. 

The tingling feeling on his skin is unlike anything he’s felt before. It spreads from where they’re touching, up the back of his hand, towards his wrist, trickling up his lower arm. Like a tickle, a caress, and at the same time, something forceful, relentless. Something he couldn’t hold back, even if he’d tried. Spreading all the way out to his fingertips. He can almost swear he feels it in his  _ nails. _

The boy lets his fingers find their way down onto the seared wood, intertwined with Isak’s own, spreading out like a fan of sorts. 

The tingling feeling grows even stronger, against the sides of his fingers, on the back of his hand, running even further up his arm, towards his shoulder, his chest.

He looks up at the boy again.

The apprehensive look on his face is gone. Instead, there’s a smile forming at the corners of his mouth. A small sparkle in the blue of his eyes. The colour returning to his cheeks as he nods at Isak, looking down at their hands.

And Isak follows. 

He has a hard time believing what he actually sees, has to look a few seconds before he understands. But this – it shouldn’t be happening, it shouldn’t be true, but –

There’s no mistaking the white bark reappearing under their joined hands. The tree coming back to life in front of his own eyes, called back to him in this very moment, by this boy – by –

As the cracks in the wood seal, smoothing out like they never existed, the last remnants of brown disappear, and in the next second, it’s like it was never there. 

He looks up at the boy. Sees how the glint in his eyes is joined by something sincere. Sees how the sunlight falls over his face, golden spots dancing on his dark blonde hair as the leaves move above.

Isak opens his mouth, but has no idea what to say. Except –

“I’m sorry – sorry I yelled at you. I had no idea –”

The boy smiles, and draws a breath, before he lets out a small, shaky laugh. “Me neither.”

This – does this mean – 

Isak can’t even say it. Not that he has to.

The mess awaiting him when he gets out of here is still there. Will be. But right now, it feels surprisingly okay. 

Like something he might be able to handle.

He looks up at the boy again, none of them making a move to let go of the other. 

The tingling on his own skin, in his flesh, has spread throughout his whole body by now. Not only on the surface, but down into his bones. To his core. And suddenly, he knows.

He never wants to let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](https://irazor.tumblr.com)!


End file.
